My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!-Chapter 254: The Collector’s Estate

Chapter 254: The Collector’s Estate
[One Week Later - Lumeria, Merchant District]
Marcus Vell’s estate sat in the most expensive part of Lumeria—behind high walls, with manicured gardens visible through wrought-iron gates. The kind of place Marron would never have approached in her old life. The kind of place that reminded you exactly where you stood in the world’s hierarchy.
She stood at those gates now, Aldric beside her, the Food Cart rolling quietly at her back. Inside the cart, the three tools were practically vibrating with anticipation—no fear, no suspicion, just desperate excitement at being close to their sibling. She could feel their energy radiating through the wood.
"This is a trap," she said for the third time that morning.
"You’ve said that," Aldric replied patiently. "Multiple times."
"Because it feels like one. Wealthy merchant, private estate, complete discretion? This is how people disappear."
"Marcus Vell is a legitimate collector. I’ve verified his reputation—he’s known for ethical acquisitions and proper artifact preservation."
"Which makes him exactly the kind of person the Council would recruit to trick me."
Aldric gave her a look. "You’re being paranoid."
"I’m being cautious." Marron glanced back at the Food Cart, which had rolled a bit closer to the gate on its own—eager, pulling toward something inside the estate.
Lucy, in her jar tucked carefully in a bag hanging from the Food Cart’s side, was unusually active. The little water slime kept pressing against the glass, her blue form shifting restlessly. She’d been agitated since they’d entered Lumeria’s merchant district, growing more active with each block they’d traveled.
"Lucy’s been weird all morning," Marron muttered.
"She’s probably picking up on your anxiety."
"Maybe." But it felt like more than that. Lucy didn’t usually react to Marron’s emotions this strongly. The slime seemed focused on something—drawn toward the estate in a way that was distinctly different from the tools’ eager anticipation.
Marron approached the gate and pulled the bell cord, the Food Cart rolling close behind her. Deep chimes rang somewhere inside the estate.
A servant appeared—middle-aged woman in neat but not ostentatious clothing. "Miss Louvel?"
"Yes."
"Master Vell is expecting you. Please, come in."
The gates swung open, and they followed the servant up a gravel path lined with autumn flowers, the Food Cart rolling smoothly behind them. The estate house was beautiful—three stories of pale stone with tall windows, elegant but not gaudy. Old money, Marron’s mother would have called it. The kind that didn’t need to show off.
They were led to a study on the ground floor. Books lined every wall from floor to ceiling, and artifacts were displayed in glass cases—pottery, tools, jewelry, all labeled with small brass plaques describing their origin and significance.
A man rose from a desk by the window as they entered.
Marcus Vell was perhaps sixty, with silver hair and the kind of face that suggested he smiled often. He wore simple but expensive clothes, and his hands bore the ink stains of someone who worked with documents regularly.
"Miss Louvel," he said, extending his hand. "Thank you for coming. I know my letter must have seemed strange."
Marron shook his hand warily. "It was... unexpected."
"I imagine so. Please, sit." He gestured to comfortable chairs arranged around a small table. "And you must be Aldric Vess. I’ve heard Edmund Erwell speak highly of you."
Aldric went very still. "You know Master Erwell?"
"We’re acquaintances. I’ve donated several artifacts to the Society over the years." Marcus smiled. "Which is precisely why I didn’t contact them about this particular item. Edmund would insist on immediate acquisition, and I’m not ready to part with it."
"Why not?" Marron asked, still suspicious. "If you don’t know how to care for it properly—"
"I didn’t say I wanted to keep it forever. I said I wasn’t ready to part with it yet." Marcus sat across from them. "Miss Louvel, I’m a collector. I appreciate beautiful, significant objects. But I’m not a hoarder. When I acquire something beyond my ability to properly maintain, I find it an appropriate home. Usually the Society, sometimes other institutions or private collectors with relevant expertise."
He leaned forward slightly. "But this vessel is different. It’s been in my collection for three years, and in that time, I’ve become... attached to it. More than I’ve ever been to an artifact before. It almost feels alive."
"That’s because it is," Marron said before she could stop herself.
Marcus’s expression shifted—not surprise, but confirmation. "I thought so. The way it glows. The way food placed inside it seems to ferment with intention rather than just chemistry. The way it sometimes feels warm when I touch it, like it’s responding." He met Marron’s eyes. "That’s why I contacted you instead of the Society. Edmund would lock it away and study it. But if it’s alive, it deserves better than that."
Some of Marron’s suspicion eased. This didn’t sound like a trap. It sounded like someone who genuinely cared about an object he didn’t fully understand.
"Can I see it?" she asked.
"Of course. I’ve set it up in my personal kitchen. I thought you’d want to examine it in context rather than in a sterile display room."
He led them through the house to a large, well-equipped kitchen that looked both modern and traditional. Marron brought the Food Cart inside—it barely fit through the doorway but rolled in with determination. And there, on a marble counter near the window, sat the Fermentation Crock.
Marron felt her breath catch.
It was beautiful—a large ceramic vessel maybe two feet tall, with a wide mouth and gracefully curved sides. The glaze was a deep amber color that seemed to shift slightly in the light, and delicate patterns were etched into the surface: leaves, vines, grain stalks, all flowing together in organic harmony.
And it was glowing. Faintly, but definitely glowing from within, like sunlight through honey.
The tools inside the Food Cart went absolutely silent for one heartbeat.
Then they exploded with recognition, with joy, with desperate relief. The cart itself shuddered slightly under the force of their emotion, wheels trembling against the kitchen floor.
Sibling. Sibling. You’re here. You’re real. You’re alive.
The Fermentation Crock pulsed back—slower, deeper, like a drum answering distant bells.
Family. I remember. I’ve been waiting.
Marron felt tears spring to her eyes without meaning to. The reunion happening through her—four tools and their fifth sibling, separated for centuries, finally acknowledging each other again.
"Miss Louvel?" Marcus’s voice was concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I’m fine," Marron managed. "They’re just... the tools are communicating with it. With their sibling. It’s overwhelming."
"Sibling," Marcus repeated softly. "So there are more of them."
"Seven originally. I carry four. This is the fifth I’ve encountered." Marron approached the Crock slowly, reverently. "May I touch it?"
"Please."